Immigration Burgers

I went to an event tonight with a most disappointing spread.

My hopes were high when I walked into the room, as I smelt something that smelt an awful lot like pies - the good ones, New Zealand pies that are stuffed full of meat and cheese. I had been invited to this event as part of the Kiwi community in New York, so pies were definitely a possibility.

I made my way around the room, introducing myself and chatting and making pleasant small talk, checked out the art on display as one should (beautiful, beautiful sculptural pieces - this was not a hardship at all) and then, after the speeches were done, casually made my way towards the food table, on which I was pretty sure I could see arancini, and which hopefully also contained the much-hoped for pies.

Well. Not only were there no pies, there was nothing encased in pastry in that entire, oversized room. The arancini turned out to be whole apricots. There were a couple of plates of those, a couple of Swiss cheese slices (like any deli would serve), a couple of plates of mini gherkins, a plate of mini sausages, and a plate of pretzels. It was like a bunch of lunch fixings got lost and ended up at a '70s cocktail party*, and did I mention there was nothing encased in pastry in the whole place? Parties, receptions, and events are pretty much the only places I eat pastry. Needless to say, I was severely disappointed.

I begrudgingly ate a couple of pieces of cheese to stave off my hunger, did some more glad-handing around the room, then took my leave, excited for the dinner that awaited me at home.

H1 was cooking tonight, and in an earlier text had promised immigration burgers. The fact that he actually meant 'I'm making burgers' and was caught out by autocorrect means nothing. From now on, we will be calling them immigration burgers. It's kind of fitting, too, because they were an awesome mash of typical Kiwi and American flavors, eaten by two New Zealanders in New York.

They had all the basic burger components - a meat patty, buns, lettuce, cheese, onion - then also cleverly incorporated pineapple (Kiwi style), capsicum**, mayo, and an incredible barbecue sauce. And they were amazing. So amazing that there are no pictures, because I ate it***. Instead, I leave you with this:

Immigration burgers are a win!

*Just had a thought. This was an art-based event. Perhaps this was some sort of avant-garde statement?
**Or pepper, depending where you hail from.
***Plus, I think there are enough hastily-taken iPhone pictures of food floating around this universe - I don't think I need to add more.

This Sporting Life

You know how it's too hot to do anything?

Well, it still is. I wish there was some sort of career where all you had to do was sweat*. I'd be awesome at it. I don't mean a career where sweat is a by-product, such as being a weightlifter or Usain Bolt, I mean a career that is solely about the sweat. I can't think of any (and, you know what, I'm not going to try too hard, because ew.)

That said, I may have given up completely on hair and makeup for the rest of summer, but I'm still definitely doing some things, a couple of which are more than slightly surprising to me. The first one is working, even though this weather is making me feel like I should be on holiday 24/7 (and surely what I feel, my clients feel too?)** I am working a lot, both the type that earns me air-con money and the type of personal projects that hopefully might pay an electricity bill or two, one day, but even if they don't they're worth it.

The other is exercise.

Isn't that weird?! In what sort of world am I the sort of person who chooses to expend the little energy they have exercising, rather than blow-drying? What's happening, man***?

I've shared my feelings about exercise before, and I'm happy to report that this latest bout has not been caused by a middle-fingers-raised, 'I'll show you, illness' reaction. I haven't been sick in yonks (touch SO much wood).

No, this is merely because...I'm enjoying it. Pretty much every morning, I'm heading down to the river to go power walking**** or rollerblading*****. A couple of nights a week, you'll find me running around a tennis court, waving my racquet around like Federer******. H1 and I go on the occasional bike ride, and we have done much talking about taking advantage of the free weekend kayaking on the Hudson, which I figure is the same thing as doing it. I've been sporadically going to yoga, as well, but I need to find a new studio which has the right balance of hippy-dippiness (virtually none, please - I will accept the occasional namaste) and wallet-friendliness (I went to one studio that I loved, which was like a big giant fancy spa in a posh hotel, but sadly, it cost about what a big fancy spa in a posh hotel would. I can't afford it. I have air-con bills to pay). I am AWESOME.

Okay, let's be honest. I am AVERAGE. But I'm having a lot of fun.

I can only imagine how good it must feel to not only enjoy a sport, but to be really, unequivocally good at it. I doubt it's a feeling I'll ever have (and I'm okay with that) but I get to experience it, just a little bit, watching my husband cycle, and listening to him talking about it. I know he's amazing, of course, but it's always nice to have it confirmed, as it was this weekend, when he placed eighth in the time trial on the first day, took the maillot jaune (that means he WON!) and King of the Mountains on the second day, and wound it up by winning the overall race, and taking third place in the King of the Mountains competition, on the last. For three days we were in the beautiful Catskills, H1 cycling like a loon, me sitting around reading/jumping up and down at the finish line, clapping and cheering like a loon. It was amazing to see, but by far the best part of the weekend was the comment casually uttered to me by the lovely second place winner.

"Your husband's a great guy. Such a gentleman. I've never seen such a graceful winner."

"Thank you!" I responded. "It's the Kiwi in him."

A flippant response, uttered thoughtlessly, but oh, so true. Training for a big race means not a lot of partying gets done (this is, of course, devastating, because I'm such a partier, but we make it work) so H1 and I have been watching a fair bit of the Olympics. I love the Olympics (I scream energetically at the TV every time, even when I know the results), and I'm loving how well New Zealand is doing, but most of all, I love what amazing sportsmen and women our country has produced. I'm biased, sure, but I'm pretty convinced that what makes H1 such a "graceful winner" and me such a "graceful, erm, not winner" is to do with what we're seeing happening in London right now. The ethos of New Zealand sport that we were lucky enough to grow up with - you play hard and you try hard and you love it - is awesome. It surely is why I now make the time for exercise. It makes me super-proud, and it is reason about #102 why I so much love this sporting life.

*Or glow, rather, because that is what I do, of course. Glowing buckets, in fact.
**Actually not that surprising. The air-con bills have to be paid somehow.
***I never say man, except sometimes ironically, but it's kind of necessary in that sentence.
****So embarrassing! Power walking is so lame! But I've been told by multiple doctors not to run anymore, and I was never all that good at it, so walking it is. I have to say power walking to differentiate from my usual 'toddling' or 'ambling'. When I power walk I do it with purpose, y'see.
*****Also pretty lame. How long's it been since rollerblading's been cool? I think I'm bringing it back.
******Pretty sure there's a trained seal called Federer somewhere.

The Dirty Little Secret I'm Kind of Proud of

I had a few hours to myself the other day, which I decided to pass by toddling down to Whole Foods for some pasta. The walk down to Whole Foods is a lovely walk - long enough to stretch your legs and listen to a good amount of music and appreciate life - but I don't do it very often because the walk also takes me past at least five other amazing grocery locations (OMG love it UWS 4-eva). I could buy pasta from any one of those, but on this day, I had time on my side so I just kept walking.

The walk took me past a place called Century 21. I had never been in there before, but I saw mention of it on another blog* and was intrigued enough to decide to spend some of my precious alone time within it. I've been toying with the idea of a couple of accessories that I'd like to add to our apartment, and thought that maybe Century 21 would be a good place to do some comparison shopping.

Now, I knew that Century 21 was a discount store, and so my hopes were way, way low. In theory, I should like the idea of discount stores (great savings on name-brand clothes! Yay!), but in reality, I don't, because really those brackets should read (made-up savings on made-up brand clothes! Why?) I don't like the idea of flicking through rails of poorly organized clothing, looking desperately for something that I'd actually wear or a brand I recognize, only to fail miserably on both counts. It's the same reason I don't like op shopping/thrift shopping/'vintage' shopping, only without the bonus musty smell. I like the sizes and the colors to be organized, and shop assistants who start a dressing room for you, and I knew that discount stores don't offer that. So yeah, hopes and expectations could not have been lower. I half expected that I'd walk in through the revolving doors and just keep spinning, to walk straight out those same doors again.

You may not have been to Century 21, so you may not realize this, but now's a good time to stop reading in order to point and laugh at me (or rather, your computer screen).

I was super wrong. Not about everything, but definitely about the desirability of the items. One of the very first things I saw was a very cute black and cream cloche. "That's cute," I thought, and picked it up, only to discover that it was not only cute, but it was Lauren by Ralph Lauren. Not Luran by Rafe Luran, but an actual proper Ralph Lauren brand. And - AND - it was $20. It was also, I dare say, current season (just), going by the theme of the S/S 2012 Ralph Lauren show.

Ralph Lauren 2012. Image: style.com

I choked, and jammed it on my head, but I had my hair up in a ballerina bun (it's too hot to do my hair, remember) and I couldn't really see what it looked like. I also own a few summer hats already, so I reluctantly put it back, but the bug had taken hold. Eagerly, I headed for the escalator, all thoughts of pasta (and, for that matter, home accessories) gone from my mind.

The excitement must have blurred my vision, because I ended up in the basement, which I could have sworn the sign told me was the women's section, but was actually kids. I was about to turn tail and leave, when I noticed a rack of Polo shirts. A tidy selection, arranged by both color and size, that called me in, even though I'm not a kid.

Well, I'm not a kid in age, I should say. Thank God for the obesity crisis afflicting America's children, because I found a really sweet pink one that I knew would fit me perfectly. I'm not going to say what age group it was intended for, because that's a little embarrassing, but that shirt fit better than any adult size I've ever tried on. I snatched it up eagerly and made myself walk to the checkout before I got reported for hanging around the kids' section. There was a quick dalliance with the shoe section (women's - my feet, at least, grew normally) but I managed to extract myself with the promise of a raincheck, to be redeemed in autumn (evil Mr. Burns' laugh goes here).

I grabbed some sports socks for H1 also, because they were $5 ($5!!!) and he stole some of mine the other day and I didn't appreciate it, then I paid, left, and went to Whole Foods. The whole lot, including the organic whole-wheat orzo** was under $30. I was super-excited to give H1 his present later that night (um, talking about the $5 sports socks) but he knew and I knew that really, the actual present to get excited about was my dirty little secret. I, Hayley Condiments, confess that I both discount-shopped and enjoyed it***.

*I can't remember which and, despite some rampant Googling, can't find it, which really annoys me because it was a great post about decorating a bathroom that I would like to read again, and I would also like to link to it so you could all also read a great post about decorating a bathroom and I could give that blog the credit it deserves.

**I know, I know. Sometimes I hate me too. Sorry.

***Thinking more about this, this isn't really a present at all. It's not like I'm going to give up Barneys or J. Crew in favor of Century 21. I'm just adding it to my arsenal. I guess the sports socks were the present after all, along with the orzo with asparagus, smoked salmon and lemon that I cooked later that night.